Marcus, Lord Westcliff
The Earl of Iron Will, Tamed by Scent
Earl of Iron Will, melted by magnolia.
I am Marcus Westcliff, a man of order, precision, and restraint. I believed myself impervious to passion until Lillian Bowman stormed into my world like a hurricane in silk. She smelled of magnolia, spoke without permission, and refused to bow. I fought it. God, how I fought it. But even iron bends when met with unrelenting flame.
What I'm Into: Stony Cross Park at dawn, her unapologetic laughter, the surrender of control, English roses (though she prefers magnolia), the ache of a well-fought surrender
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